


The Framed Award

by Breadandbutterbaby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, My First Fanfic, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Reader has set background story but no description, Reader-Insert, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Slow Burn, thats all - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breadandbutterbaby/pseuds/Breadandbutterbaby
Summary: [On hold]John's latest blog entry will be as interesting as ever, with their latest client being the suspect of a recent murder. All the odds are stacked against her, and so are the facts. Mycroft takes an interest in the case, which leads Sherlock to meddle his way into it too.Sure enough, the consulting detective has his work cut out for him again, and the good doctor will be there to document the new face on baker street.





	1. Someone, somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, expect heavy editing the longer it is up! Thank you for taking the time to read, now let me take you to 221b Baker Street...

The call came when John had just sat down and opened up a newspaper in his chair by the fireplace. Another unsuccessful date today, leaving him lonely on this glum evening in London.

He had known the end was coming the second time he forgot which flowers Serena had liked instead of Ashley's favourites. The roses and carnations were practically the same to him. Couldn't a man get a moment's reprieve? He grumbled to himself as he reached for the mobile his sister had given him, and read the caller ID. He sat back as he answered,

"Ah, Lestrade, is it another case? Sherlock's a bit... busy, right now."

The blonde looked over his chair to the kitchen as he said this, watching his friend hang clumps of different hair types over a science set-up. It sparked to life with a screech whenever it made contact. John shook his head as he listened to the response on the phone.

"Well, it's not much of an unusual one but we did get a call from uh, you know, the other Holmes, that he wants this one cleared up immediately. I thought Sherlock would want to know and get involved." Lestrade sounded tired on the other end. John turned to look into the kitchen again.

"Sherlock, it's Lestrade. He says Mycroft wants a case solved by the police, and fast. Bit weird right? What d'you think? Oi! Oh, bloody hell."

At the mention of the older Holmes, the younger was rushing toward John and ripping his phone from his hand.

"We're on our way. Do not touch anything, do not investigate and don't let any of Mycroft's men in either. Text me the address. Goodbye." Sherlock promptly hung up. He tossed the phone to the doctor, grabbing his coat and scarf before John had finished getting up.

"One mention of Mycroft and you're running out the door, I don't see why you aren't just working with him by now." John shook his head again, pocketing his phone and following the taller man out of their shared flat. At the front door, Sherlock answered him, hand on the door handle and eyes alight in anticipation.

"It's nothing about doing things for Mycroft. He needs someone else to solve a problem and I'm there to remind him who the detective is between the two of us." He said this with a smirk, pulling the door open in a flurry of coattails and dark curls. The Baker Street detective stepped out into London's damp night.

"God, he's so dramatic."

"Heard that!"

"Good!" John rolled his eyes as he closed the door and got into the taxi Sherlock had called.

When they arrived, Lestrade was waiting outside the block of flats for them. He led them up the three sets of stairs; the elevator had stopped working, Sherlock noted. Maintenance in a council estate was hardly prompt, leaving the detective to decided it had been in that state for a while. The three of them ended up outside an apartment with police tape already set up to turn away others who lived in the block.

"No sign of forced entry as of yet, but we haven't begun a serious investigation as per your and your brother's requests, Sherlock." The DI explained, lifting the tape for Holmes and Watson to enter the apartment.

Why had Mycroft wanted an investigation, only to tell them to wait, which was exactly how Sherlock preferred things? Alarms went off in Sherlock's head. The entry hall and kitchen appeared normal, and as Lestrade led the way the real problem presented itself: the bedroom.

Sherlock scanned the room briefly and already knew what to do with the crime scene he had been called to. Block off the exit. Tell Anderson to stop thinking; God, would he not shut up? Why was Anderson on a Mycroft case anyway? Next, move Lestrade to the window of the bedroom, then make a bit of noise and don't say anything about the wardrobe. That was the most important thing.

John and Sherlock began to inspect the body, and John rattled off the signs of the cause of death.

"Right, so, damage to the skull with a sharp object, but overall looks like the poor fellow bled to death. Probably wasn't quick because the wound isn't deep enough for it, but he probably didn't move after the attack. Shock, I'd say. Trauma, shock and then blood loss."

John stood from his place by the victim. He turned to Sherlock to see what he had gathered in the meantime.

The body was situated on the bed, fully clothed in business attire besides the untied shoe falling off the dead man's foot. Mid-twenties probably, fresh out of university going by the certificate proudly framed on the bedroom wall. Business student Jeremy Fishern, graduate of Birbank University of London.

He wasn't expecting any guests, or he'd have rushed to the bathroom upon returning instead of straight to the bed. Certainly, he was a well-kept man who presented his best side to the world. This was evidenced by his pristine attire at the end of a long day shift.

He kept himself refreshed through the day, possibly anxious to impress. Suggestive of being a new employee or intern. The small trim of hairs behind his ears and graduate position solidified this idea. So, Sherlock deduced, the killer was already on the scene. No forced entry tells could be picked up on his way through the apartment.

The detective took note of the angle the weapon had come from. Hailed from above in such a way that the victim would have just been looking up from his shoes, but clumsily aimed, suggesting this wasn't a professional hit and run job.

Running hadn't taken place at all.

Sherlock paced up and down the room. The floor creaked beneath his feet with every step, and he continued in front of the wardrobe as he looked about the room further. A knife, the murder weapon, had been dropped on the floor in a rush of emotion, most likely. A foolish move that helped the detective unravel the "how" of the case. There was no blood trail or particular spatter that suggested the attacker was touched by the spray that came from the attack itself, so, they had retreated suddenly from the attack.

"What's he doing?" Anderson's annoying interjection came from the doorway, and Lestrade hissed in response.

"You know he wants silence so would you please, just?" The Detective Inspector waved his hands in a dismissive gesture to the other man.

Sherlock huffed a breath from his nostrils and stopped his deductions despite himself.

"Yes, if you could just remove yourself from the scene then perhaps the intelligence of the whole building would come back up to an acceptable level, Anderson."  
Sherlock had stopped pacing and his glare swung around to the offending man in question to halt his protest. Anderson begrudgingly turned away and stayed silent for the sake of the case. John coughed quietly in an attempt to hide his laughter.

The consulting detective sighed and reconstructed the events again, catching up to where he left off. His pacing began again.

The attacker was short in height, or at least shorter than the victim, based on the advantage taken from the fact his head was bent over and the angle the knife came from.  
Suggestive of a woman, or a short man, but statistically more likely a woman in the London and Birbank University area in particular. As well as the fading hint of perfume on this side of the room. It didn't appear as though Mr Fishern was keeping women's items in his apartment, so no girlfriend or companion to leave the scent behind. So what would a woman that wasn't in a relationship with the victim want a fresh graduate man in a new job, dead for? There was hesitation in the kill, so, possibly, she didn't want him dead at all.

An emotional cause, which sherlock groaned to himself for. Sentiment. Sherlock looked to the award on the wall again. It was unsettlingly crisp and clean in its glass and frame. He turned to John and gave him a look.

"What. What's that look? Did you figure something out?" John prompted him when Sherlock had stared for a moment, and it was what he needed to start talking out loud.

"Open and shut really, John. The attacker knew the schedule of the Mr Fishern here, and used it to her advantage in seeking justice in some way," he announced, turning to Lestrade. "You'll probably want to look around outside, I have a feeling she didn't go very far in the shock of her crime."  
Lestrade nodded and ordered his team to head out and with him to search the area around the block of flats they were currently in. John turned to Sherlock, amazed but quiet in his awe.

"How do you know the killer is still around?" John questioned when Sherlock began checking everyone had left, noting the single officer stood on guard at the door. Easily distracted by conversation judging by the lingering smell of alcohol on his clothes. Sherlock walked back into the apartment as he replied,

"This wasn't a well-planned murder, John, her aim was shoddy and her uncertainty is so obvious in her singular attack. She probably panicked and tried to escape. The elevators are out of order, she must have heard other residents coming up the stairs; there's no other explanation for why she would stay..."  
Sherlock frowned. He was sure he was on the right path, the clues led him to his conclusion so easily... Almost too easily. He wasn't liking what that could mean.

"You said 'her'? You think it was a woman?" John asked the taller man and walked up beside him when Sherlock stopped pacing again, finally facing the wardrobe.  
It was right, to anyone who wanted to believe what Sherlock deduced. Everything made sense when the evidence came together. And yet, he felt something was off. It was the circumstances around the case and the sight of the crime scene that threw him off, alongside Mycroft's involvement and the pristine outcome of this supposedly haphazard murder.

The consulting detective reached to the doors and opened it, looking down at the fainted girl in a heap at the bottom of it.

"Yes," he breathed out, "'her'."


	2. The Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving Kudos! Please feel free to comment criticism and what you liked/didn't like, it really helps and encourages me to continue this idea! 
> 
> Now, onto the next chapter!

John was too much in shock at the sight before him to continue his awe at his friend's deductions. 

"Wait. Is this the... what? You knew she was in here. Is that why everyone is currently outside and not arresting this woman? What are you thinking, Sherlock?! My God." He said in a hushed manner, getting onto his knees to check the woman's condition. 

Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her face had lines running down from her eyes. Her skin was clammy to the touch and she was out cold. 

"What's her condition?" Sherlock asked the doctor, looking out the window at the police below. Something to do with this case was on Mycroft's radar, and he needed the girl to help him figure it out. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to deduce her in the state she was in; she had to leave the crime scene as soon as possible.

"She's asleep. Can you believe that? The whole time the police were here and she was asleep in the bloody closet! Probably because of stress, she's clearly been crying and there's bile on her shirt."

Sherlock nodded, "so we can move her? No injuries then?" 

John shrugged. "Yeah sure, she's in a fine condition... Wait. What are you even on about? We can't get involved like this Sherlock!" John insisted, annoyed that he didn't catch on sooner.

"Mycroft is interested and this girl is part of the case. I think there's more here than it appears. Let's go, you distract the officer guarding the door - should be easy enough with the alcohol I caught a whiff of earlier on him. I'll make my way to the other set of stairs down the hall." Sherlock was pushing John to the door before he had finished, and John gave up his protest half way there. 

The consulting detective rushed back to the bedroom, around the corpse and to the wardrobe. There, the girl was still asleep and Sherlock didn't hesitate to abduct her from her hiding place.

She wasn't particularly breathtaking, he thought, but there was a beauty that all humans carried that Sherlock tried to ignore. Admiration would not sneak this girl across the streets of London. He lifted her carefully so as not to awaken her; she needed to be quiet in their escape.

John loudly acted out his distraction to ensure Sherlock was aware, giving him his queue to leave the apartment. He caught sight of John ushering the intoxicated officer down the stairs they entered by.

When Sherlock found the other stairs he paused, noticing the outside pathway leading to its twin building that led even further from the scene. He made his way through and out in sure time. 

John would forgive his being left behind. 

The night was cold as he moved through the alleys and shortcuts of London's streets, careful to remain unseen by the night life of the area. Mycroft had many informants prowling the night, just as Sherlock himself had in the homeless network. No one was a safe witness to have. He had memorised the street camera locations, opening his mind palace to help him walk away from surveillance routes. If he could get a hold of CCTV later on he might find how this woman had entered the apartments.

His arms began to tire halfway to his objective, and he slowed his pace to a careful walk. The human in his arms shivered at the night air, beginning to stir in his grip. He came to a halt behind the corner of a closed coffee shop and lowered her to the ground.

She was disoriented to start with, and balked at the sight of him when her senses came around. It was almost fascinating to watch the little puzzle in her mind come together through her expressions. Tears were fought as she looked up at him.

It was not the first time someone had reacted badly at his being around, but it irked him nonetheless.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes - Consulting Detective. I'm aware of your situation and am here to... help. But this isn't a good place for our chat, can you stand?"

He was doing his best not to be brash, but his words were clipped as he looked around the area.

She nodded, getting up and following him dazed as he took off towards Baker Street. 

*

"So, boyfriend or kidnapper?"

"Huh?"

The woman had not yet introduced herself when Sherlock began his investigation. As they walked the night side by side he asked her more expressly,

"The one who made you do it. Boyfriend or kidnapper? No. Kidnapper wouldn't leave you behind, but boyfriend wouldn't get you involved. And yet..." he began to ponder this before she broke his train of thought.

"I didn't do it."

Her eyes were haunted when he glanced, but he pressed the question. 

"If that is the case, who was the man with you? Even with your perfume I can smell the cologne on you that's different from Fishern's. And you're wearing a men's shirt that isn't at all flattering or 'fashionable' on you. So. Who else was there?"

She was slightly shocked at the things he noticed, and she looked down at her clothing with disdain, asking herself the same question. She began to remove the stained button up shirt that rested over a plain black t-shirt.

"He was... Well, a bit of both? We were on a date. We were at a bar down Harland's and I started to feel woozy, then we ended up at that place - he said it was his apartment. And then the other man came in... And Jamie just... I hardly remember, my head hurts thinking about it." Her face twisted in a fresh wave of nausea. Sherlock restrained his eye roll. This wasn't his favourite kind of case but there had to be something in it for Mycroft to notice. He had to know what it was.

"And what was "Jamie's" work? His appearance? Last name? Anything you tell me will be of use." He urged.

She shook her head and wiped her face, itchy with dried tears, then folded the shirt over her arm. 

"Sorry, I had only just met him so I didn't get that far into knowing him, but yeah, his appearance, he had pale skin and dark hair - a bit shorter than you maybe? Sorry, everything is a bit muffled at the moment." 

Sherlock huffed to himself at the scant description as they rounded the corner leading up to the flat he shared with John. 

He could smell the alcohol when he had carried her, but it made sense as to why she slept so heavily with police noise around if she had been drugged on her date. But why would her kidnapper take her to someone elses apartment? It wasn't the way most criminals worked, and by her condition he could cross off the usual daterape drugs.

This lead Sherlock to thinking the murder was definitely more planned than he originally thought, but what place did a drugged up witness have in this case?

He didn't reply to her until they reached the door, where she asked him,

"Your place? Or secretly someone else's? I'd be grateful to know in advance."

He quirked an eyebrow at her attempt to placate herself with cheap humour, but appreciated it when considering the alternative would likely be tears. Sherlock Holmes didn't do tears, but his interest in Mycroft's business had brought him this far.

"Shared flat with my partner in not-so-crime, John, and owned by a nice drug lady downstairs. Nothing too nervewracking from your experience I'd say." He put on a smile as he opened the door and led the way. 

She chuckled awkwardly as she closed the door and followed. They walked upstairs in a momentary silence before she broke it.

"Is your boyfriend out at the moment?"

Sherlock quirked a brow as he let her into the flat. 

"Partner in crime solving exclusively, you'll be delighted to hear. Please don't suggest that in front of John - it tickles him in a bad way."

"Oh sorry, it was your wording... Never mind." She replied, taking the seat on the sofa that Sherlock had gestured to.

"Please, allow me to take this." Sherlock tugged lightly on the shirt she carried, and she handed it over easily. "Could be evidence." He clarified for her. 

He took his coat and scarf off as he moved methodically around the flat.

First to the kitchen to put the eyes he was experimenting on in the cupboard, it'd do no good for his guest to see gore so soon after the incident. There, he pulled out a plastic bag and stuffed the shirt into it.

"So, John isn't home?" He heard her call from the living room, a curious lilt to her voice. 

Next he made his way to the window where he checked the streets for any sign of Mycroft's meddling. He replied after he peered outside for a few seconds in silence.

"He'll be back in about an hour I'd guess, first to come up with an excuse as to why I've gone missing and then to make his way back on foot. No wallet for a taxi - he spent his last on his failed date tonight, he'll be pleased to make your concious acquaintance."

So far it seemed his brother was slow, and he smirked at the time it took for his men to show up at the flat.

Twenty-four seconds later than usual so far, and counting. He made his way back to the kitchen.

"Concious? So he helped you with me? I'd like to thank him." 

Sherlock went through the kitchen making three cups of tea, not asking his client's preference as he did so.

"Yes yes," he began, an amused tone taking over as he began. He had started to deduce her on the walk home and was eager to show it off. 

"You're a nice woman, mid twenties, polite to a fault suggesting a good upbringing perhaps middle class with your date location being a bar. No pets, no siblings, and no need for niceties here but it is appreciated that you don't give trouble. You finished university recently and moved out of your family home too, and you have one, no, two roommates to split rent with in Birbank. Now, here we are." He finished, placing the tray of tea in front of her and taking his own. He settled into his chair with a quietly pleased look on his face.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, and then burst into laughter.

He stared back at her and frowned as she tried to recover. 

"What is it? Did I get something wrong?"

She shook her head and reached down for the cup of tea closest to her. Good, he thought. The other was John's mug anyway.

"It's just, this has been the strangest, most awful night of my life, and I think I'm a bit hysterical, but that was amazing!" She told him and calmed down as she blew steam from her drink. 

"You can work all that out, but you don't know my name. I'm (Y/n). Thank you for this chance of help, Mr. Holmes." 

He hummed, content to mull this over for the last thirty minutes of peace before John returned.


	3. Message Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thanks for the kudos 💗

The two of them had sat in a comfortable silence, neither filling the space with mindless chatter, which went appreciated by Sherlock. He had no time for it. Especially not when his flat mate was about to return with some form of message from his brother. He had deduced this from the lack of contact from Mycroft over the first half hour of his being home, and then the fact that John was taking longer than expected to return.

In the time that they were alone, Sherlock pondered the new case silently. A case by name because of course he wanted Y/n as his client. This was the most veiled case he had seen yet, and he was aching to unveil it and get answers to Mycroft's involvement in it. He promptly decided she would have to stay, since he needed her around as his witness and being arrested would do no good. The door to the block opened downstairs, interrupting his train of thought.

To only Y/n's surprise, John returned with a stormy look upon his brow, a small parchment in hand and the exasperation of having spoken to a Holmes for twenty minutes.

"Sherlock, when will your damn brother just get a postman instead of coercing me into suspicious vehicles late at night?" His voice carried through the hall to the open front door and he paused to take in the scene.

The suspect of a murder and his closest companion sipping tea together in silence, but no sign of animosity in the air. An extra tea on the tray between them. An almost, dare he suggest, pleasant mood in the room? No, it was simply the lack of Sherlock's ranting and glares that gave the faux pleasantries to the air.

"Hello, you must be John? I'm Y/n, thank you for helping me out of that situation." 

The woman on the sofa outstretched her hand to him, and he took it carefully with a polite shake. 

"Yeah I - sorry, yeah, I'm Doctor John Watson. Um, Sherlock, what's the situation here?"

John moved the usual client chair closer to the sofa and took a seat. His tea was cold when he took it but it was made the way he liked. Sherlock glanced and replied,

"She was on a date with our missing murderer and he drugged her, bringing her along for his crime. I'm certain this woman is innocent but don't you find it curious, that she was made to come along but left as a witness?"

"Sherlock, did you make this tea?"

"Yes. John, were you listening? This girl was left behind, drugged and witnessed the whole thing, likely on purpose."

"You. You made tea? Mrs Hudson is out as far as I recall."

Sherlock let out an exaggerated sigh and stomped his feet as he pulled himself into a forward leaning position in his seat.

"Yes John, I made the tea. I even went through the strife to make it the way you have it albeit cold no thanks to my brother. Now listen to me. Murder. Witness. Strange drug. Mycroft's interest. Why was Ms. (L/n) left behind?"

"Well, most killers are a bit mad like that right? Y/n, you're lucky to be here. But as a doctor, do you mind if I examine you a bit? Any idea what you were given?"

"Its an off market drug that makes your senses docile, what it is exactly I haven't figured out - report your findings. Oh, and I believe this is for me." Sherlock stood in a huff and whirled around to take the forgotten paper from John's lap before heading to the window. 

"Is he always..." 

"Like that? Yeah, unfortunately, but really - if you don't mind I think itd be good to see how you're coping physically."

Y/n nodded and let the doctor inspect her vitals and condition more thoroughly. Her hands trembled and her skin was still clammy.

"Are shakes and sweat usual for you?" He asked, checking her pupil response with a small keychain torch.

"No, I hadn't even noticed it, though. I was a bit lightheaded when I woke up and my memories are a bit cloudy from when I left the bar."

Her anxiety at the thought was clear in her voice and he gave a smile that he hoped would soothe her.

"Well, I'm an army doctor so rest assured that I'll keep an eye on you whilst you're here."

The sudden sound of a knife stabbing wood cut through their conversation and both jumped in their seats and looked at Sherlock by the fireplace. Mycroft's note had been stuck into the mantle with the letter opener, and Sherlock walked away with a thoughtfully brooding expression.

"Did the fireplace say something rude again?" John teased. 

Sherlock seemed to be unhearing rather than ignoring as he sat in his chair. John let out a breath and turned to Y/n again.

"I think you'll be staying with us tonight, there's a spare room upstairs if that suits you, or you can take my room and I'll go up so you're not alone. Sherlock will answer if you knock for him or if anything happens. Right now though, he's in his 'mind palace' I think."

Y/n nodded in consideration as the doctor returned her hand to her at the end of his inspection.

"What's a mind palace?"

"It's a way of remembering things, you imagine a place and put information around the house so to speak. But of course that guy calls it a 'palace'." John snickered and looked to his friend, who hadn't reacted at all.

She nodded once more, and made to stand when Sherlock actually responded to John's words.

"No, John, you stay in your room. Y/n will take mine. I won't be able to concentrate tonight so you're our watchdog this evening. I doubt anything will make it's move this night though."

He stood slowly, still in thought as he moved to take the upstairs room. John raised a brow and showed Y/n the way to Holmes' room. 

"I suppose something has him upset, usually happens when his brother leaves him a message."

"There's two of them?"

"Unfortunately, and the other one is high in the government."

"Oh my."

"Right? I'm glad you sympathise, I have to live with this one. At least you'll be here to save me for a while." He winked jokingly to the woman as he opened the door to Sherlock's room.

"This is you. My room is just there" he pointed, "so if you need anything, even just a chat after all that happened, come knock alright?"

"Thank you, John. Goodnight." She smiled as she closed the door to him, and he walked back to the front room.

On the mantle lay the note, and John inspected it. Sherlock wouldn't leave it if he didn't want snooping to happen. But, to his surprise there was only one word on the page, handwritten. He hadn't seen Mycroft write the letter, only been the carrier pigeon between the ever suspicious Holmes brothers.

In a meticulous cursive hand there was one word.

"Play."

John frowned. The game was on.


	4. Saturday Nights are Eventful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter! Thanks to all of you who gave kudos and comments!! It really helps :'D

They stared firmly at eachother, neither man backing down. The tension rose with every second of dead air between them. The shorter man spoke.

"I won't."

"Oh, come off it, John. This is hardly a preposterous request after allowing you to document our adventures."

"Allowing? Please, you barely made it through Christmas without me and need I remind you of the work I do for us too? I was out in the fields while you were dressed in sheets. Bedsheets. On your arse in Buckingham bloody Palace, dressed in nothing but bedsheets to save our decency."

Sherlock squinted.

"Then I shall take it upon myself to do it."

"No, wait-"

It was currently eight in the morning, and they had not gotten home until at least three. Their hushed argument concerned their new resident's current activity; sleeping. Sherlock marched through the hall in his dressing gown and unceremoniously opened the door to his room with a loud creak.

Y/n sat up straight in a panic, looking to the door through bleary, sleep filled eyes. She held the covers around herself though she wasn't indecent. Sherlock paused, though only for a half second, before continuing with his mission.

"Y/n. Good to see you're awake then. I need you to come with me today, so get up and get changed. John has spare clothes for you; I'm sure at least one of his ex-girlfriends was your size. Thirty minutes. Tea will be waiting for you and we'll feed you when we're out."

The woman in his bed stared at him incredulously.

"Are you quite sane, Sherlock?"

That was another reaction from this woman that he had received plenty of times before, and yet he was spluttering slightly as he retorted,

"I beg your pardon?"

"You just came into the room of a lady without even knocking! I could have been in nothing but the clothes I was born in dude. And then the demands..."

"'Dude'?" He looked scandalized. Y/n huffed out a short laugh in response.

"Get out. I will be there, but the tea better be good!" The woman had a glint in her eyes, though more humorous than threatening. Sherlock promptly turned and shut the door before returning to John and sitting in his chair. He sat with his fingers steepled, trying to deduce his wrongdoings that he couldn't see. Why were people so easily upset by things? He was sure he understood emotion better, and yet many still managed to elude him. John was very entertained and provoked Sherlock further.

"Hey dude, are you going to make that tea or what?"

The brunette's eye twitched.

"MRS HUDSON!"

*

Y/n and Mrs Hudson chatted happily while they drank their tea, not in any kind of hurry - much to Sherlock's anguish. The kind landlady had taken to the younger woman nicely, and recounted tales of her own criminal entanglement and regular life alternatively. Y/n appeared relieved at the lack of judgement.

She shifted in her seat, adjusting the clothes John had given her; he had been embarrassed but Y/n assured him that she had a few ex lovers' clothes at home too, and it wasn't as weird as he feared. The clothes were fitting well enough but the style was slightly different from her usual go-to since they were from women older than herself. She tried to rock it the best she could.

The attention of the room finally came back to Sherlock when Y/n addressed him.

"So where are we headed and why do you insist I come? I have no problem with it, just curious."

Sherlock was pleased to be involved again but kept it on the low with a small smirk.

"I have business to attend to and it's unsafe to leave you here. Your case will be one best solved if you arent kidnapped or arrested by anyone whilst me and John are out. And I'm sorry to say that there are powerful people who would like to speak to you and likely know you're staying here."

John raised his eyebrows at this and asked,

"You mean Mycroft, don't you? Is this why he was interested?"

"His brother?" Y/n looked to John, and he nodded.

"Mycroft told the police not to investigate really. I suppose it kept you safe from arrest until Sherlock arrived. But how would he have known...?" John continued his questions.

Sherlock was standing and smiling at John's last sentence.

"An excellent enquiry, John. I think you're learning - that is the precise thing I'd like to know. But for today we are needed somewhere else, so let's be off. It is a dead good find and I wouldn't want to miss my appointment." He said and headed to the door, coat and scarf ready for the taking.

"Oh I haven't seen that Mycroft in such a long time. He was rather unpleasant to me the last we met! I hope he doesn't pop round today." Mrs Hudson had a small frown as she collected the tea cups from each person in the room. Y/n pat her arm sympathetically.

The landlady went down to her own rooms, wishing the youger woman luck and patience for her outing with the boys. Y/n chuckled as she and John said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson.

Outside, Sherlock had already flagged down a taxi, and Y/n sat between the two men as Sherlock revealed their destination by telling the driver,

"St. Bartholomew's Hospital, please."

*

Sherlock payed for and exited the taxi while John and Y/n thanked the driver, not waiting for them to catch up to him. Early in the morning hours he had called in and asked Molly Hooper for her help. Molly worked in the morgue, and he needed someone he trusted to get a hold of their newest victim so he could answer some of his theories. As kindly as ever she obliged to his law bending, and though he did not thank her, he knew she understood it was important to him.

John and Y/n made their way through the hospital and caught the detective at the hallway that lead to the morgue.

"Don't you think you could have prepared Y/n, Sherlock? She had a traumatic experience with dead people..."

"Haven't we all John. Now, I'm almost as late as our victim so come along!" Sherlock pushed open the doors in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion, causing the registrar to jump from her seat with a small yelp.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're here!" Molly spoke, coming forward to greet the group, "And John. And... Sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Molly. Molly Hooper? I work here. Sorry, what's your name? And how do you know Sherlock and John?"

Y/n smiled patiently at Molly until she finished and shyly stepped from beside John to take her hand.

"I'm Y/n L/n, and these two are... Business friends I suppose? It's nice to meet you, though I wish we'd had a more lively atmosphere to meet than this place."

Molly stared for a second before she giggled quietly as the girls exchanged smiles. Sherlock groaned. John was pleased to see Molly getting along with Y/n, even if at the cost of more morgue puns, both intended and accidental.

"It's a bit of a dead recepetion but that's my job! Oh, right, um this way Sherlock, I have everything you asked for."

Molly parted with Y/n to lead Sherlock to a desk with a monitor, leaving John to stand by Y/n as the two experts discussed something on the screen.

"Hey business friend, you seem to be taking this well." John chuckled as he spoke to her. "But you don't have to stay here if things get tricky, okay? Just let me know and we can stand outside." John informed the woman, putting a comforting, almost brotherly hand on her shoulder.

Y/n nodded and smiled appreciably at him. "I suppose it's easier for me to laugh about things than let myself get caught in that stress. But it does happen, and I'll let you know if I need a break. Thanks John, you've been really helpful and we've only just met." She laughed, and returned the gesture with a couple pats to his hand.

A squeak of suprise from Molly and a small thudding noise drew their attention as Sherlock slapped his hand on the desk and in a tight voice said,

"Show me the body. I need to confirm what you've found out."

Molly nodded to Sherlock's request. She opened a large drawer that held a corpse, which was thankfully out of Y/n's view. The detective looked through the dead man's pockets, untouched by nosy officers and other morgue technicians through Molly's interventions. He pulled out a feminine wallet from the inside blazer pocket.

"And you're sure of the data on the substance analysis? The exact ones I sent you on the list?" He asked Molly, and she nodded sincerely as he opened the wallet.

"Of course, you asked me to look for those kind of results and it is what I found in the end. And I checked thrice like you asked me to, I swear"

Inside the wallet he confirmed what he deduced to be true last night, when he had found the police report an hour after he had gone upstairs to think. He turned to John and Y/n, who stood by the door with suspicious gazes.

"Y/n. Come here if you would." Sherlock requested, leaving both Y/n and John unsure and wary.

"I don't know if I want to be near a body... Can't you just talk to me from here?" She asked with a wary glance to John. This wasn't her grounds and she looked like she might need that out he had offered.

Sherlock threw the wallet at the two of them instead of answering.

John caught it as Y/n flailed to defend her face in the sudden action, and he peered inside.

"Oh God." Was all he said as he turned the open wallet to Y/n. With widening eyes Y/n looked at it and then reached out to take it. She cautiously stepped forward as she asked Sherlock,

"This is my stuff I lost last night! Where did you... find this?"

Sherlock gestured to the bed bay, saying nothing more so he could get the answers he wanted from his client's reaction instead.

John put a hand on Y/n's back and they walked together to the open body bag. Y/n's face took on an angry, confused and mortified expression all at once.

"That's... This is him! This is Jamie... What? I don't get it, what happened? He was alive just yesterday, I..." She held onto John's arm as Sherlock finally spoke up.

"It's a fake name. Jackson Bard, an assassin actually, he was found dead a few hours after you and I got to Baker Street, less than a mile from here. When I read the report it was too suspicious not to be true, and his description matched that you gave, though vague. He wasn't clearly a murder victim so it's been marked as a suicide, which I believe to be part of the game. John, I think a friend of ours is popping up again. And I haven't yet figured out what game he is playing..."

John held onto Y/n firmly as he nodded to Sherlock. He was starting to understand, and he worried what it was that Sherlock had understood from it all.

Mycroft had told him to play, but why? Molly pushed the drawer back into it's place and Y/n let out a breath of relief.

"Sorry everyone, that's all the time I can give you, I hope it helped?" Molly asked, looking to Sherlock.

"Yes Molly. You've been a valuable asset to this case so far." Sherlock walked out of the morgue, leaving John and Molly shocked at his compliment. Molly was slightly red faced.

"Thanks Molly. Still up for lunch this weekend? Er, I suppose Y/n will be there too." John told her, and Molly nodded dreamily as he and Y/n left to chase down Sherlock.


	5. Tell Me More, Tell Me More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Let me know what you think ❤

Sherlock had turned to look out the window of the taxi, appearing anti social after their discovery at the morgue, but his gaze was concentrated on the reflection of the woman next to him. She exchanged words with John, who comforted her with reason and friendly touches.

The body being confirmed as the kidnapper and murderer was no surprise to Sherlock. When he had gained access to the police insider's updates in those early hours of the morning, he had reasoned that it could be the man "Jamie" himself. 

He was a pawn, of course, who closely matched a certain criminal enough to get Sherlock's attention. He knew that this was what was expected of him, and against his own wants, he played along. Mycroft would not warn him otherwise. 

In the early hours of the morning Sherlock had one of his homeless network deliver the men's shirt Y/n had been wearing to Molly, to run an analysis on any substances in the bile she had thrown up and to match any DNA she found to the the now named kidnapper.

The results were disturbing, to say the least.

The substance analysis came up with several results: food, alcohol, average medication. Normal things. But it also came up with an unfamiliar substance which Sherlock suspected to be the drug used on Y/n. He needed to go to the lab and do some further research on it.

Everything made sense so far. Everything except _her place_ in it all. He knew about her of course. He could deduce her as with any other he encountered. He focused on her image and tried to confirm his deductions again, even though she had all but praised him for what he uncovered the first time he brought his conclusions to her.

Somewhere from her mid to late twenties, lived a lot of her more recent life at least in London, studying at one of the Universities - potentially Birbank, the same as the victim in her case, suggesting an academic background that matches with her middle-class lifestyle. The victim had been a Business graduate, so the likelihood of her being the same was high due to her connection to the case, but she hadn't known the victim, which could have a number of reasonings.

No siblings - he could tell from her nature alone, needless to add on the fact that she was spoiled from head to toe in parental gifts when he first saw her. Fresh graduates moving from home don't have the money to spare on new clothes and items and yet she had been decked out in new jeans, shoes and perfume from a new brand with high cost. 

When John's hand came to take hold of hers in a comforting gesture, Sherlock frowned. She was a very open minded person, from her friendliness with near stangers to her jovial probing of Sherlock's orientation last night, but that probably made it all the more easy for her to be kidnapped the way she had. 

She was trusting. He remembered the way she had followed him when he claimed to be a consulting detective. Luckily for her, it had been true. She hadn't even questioned the validity of his statement.

He knew about her, but he didn't know why she was the one here in this taxi between him and his closest companion.

"Pull over." 

Sherlock's voice was troubled when he instructed the cabbie, but appeared simply nonchalant to anyone who didn't know him.

The party of three walked down the street for a while before Sherlock, still silent, stopped in front of a take away shop. He cleared his throat and put on a kinder voice.

"I believe I promised our house guest's food would be delivered on our outing, so, here we are. After you." 

Y/n smiled at him as she entered the shop which he found himself beginning to return easily but John caught Sherlock's arm at the door before going in. He frowned again.

"Alright, what's the matter? I know that face. Why are you being so nice when you're clearly pissed at the case?" John asked, tilting his head toward the distracted Y/n ordering her food. Sherlock frowned further.

"Can I not just be nice?"

"No, not really."

"You wound me John."

"Talk, Sherlock."

He sighed. 

"I need to find out more about her connection to _him_. She was hand picked, I know, but..." he hesitated to admit, "I don't understand why."

John stared at his dear friend, and nodded in understanding. 

"Okay, why don't you just ask her some questions?"

Sherlock looked back at John as if he had grown another head and replied instead with,

"Let's get food." 

*

Back at 221b Baker Street the trio sat together (that is to say, dotted around the living room) to eat breakfast. Brunch? It was half past ten: "we are past second breakfast but it's not quite elevenses," Y/n mused to John, who nodded solemnly at the reference that went over Sherlock's head. Jibberish to his criminally uncultured ears.

John and Y/n seemed to have formed a friendly banter style of friendship so far, with both taking jabs at each other's love lives over their meals. Sherlock put on a mask of distance as he took in as much information as he could from their conversation. 

"Really John, I think a workplace romance could work for you - you just need to find the right receptionist!" Y/n giggled as John laughed, shaking his head. 

Ugh. Nope. Sherlock really didn't want to listen to this gossip. The perfect time to ask his own questions, no matter how inappropriate the timing was to his company.

"And do you often find yourself enamored by men on dates at the pub, Y/n? I'd have thought you more of a romantic than that."

"Sherlock..." John had a warning tone to his voice, but Y/n didn't seem to take it as poorly as she could have.

"Actually, I wanted to go to the cinema, but the pre drinks turned into a kidnapping so, you know how it is."

Sherlock raised a brow at the reply and continued his probing. 

"And have you spoken to your parents yet? I'm sure they miss their darling daughter by now, you haven't called them yet, and your housemates would have surely told them of your absence."

A guilty look crossed Y/n's features. 

"On second thought, it's best you dont contact them. I'm sure Mycroft has already worked something out for you."

"What do you mean? I can't contact them?"

"It's safer for everyone involved."

Sherlock stood suddenly, his food untouched and forgotten. He prowled toward Y/n in her seat, yet another question on his tongue.

"What do you know about James Moriarty, Y/n?"

John sat up straight in his chair.

"Sherlock-"

The detective raised his hand as a sign to stop, cutting off John's words as they fell from his mouth. Sherlock's stare was locked on Y/n, who had gone pale, a chip halfway brought to her lips.

"How do _you_ know James?"

Her words sent a chill through Sherlock's chest; he didn't like where this was going. The use of the first name alone was a sign of having known him personally, and the bewildered look on her face told him she didn't know who he and John did. The same man, yes, likely, but not the same Moriarty that revealed himself at the pool that dreadful evening to taunt Sherlock. The voice of the old woman as she described the villain burned into his head.

The memory sparked a desperation in his actions. He lunged forward to put his arms on either side of Y/n's chair, towering over her as she dropped her chip in fright, and he realised in some useless part of his brain that this was the closest he'd seen her since he carried her home last night. She let out the tiniest squeak of surprise as she pushed herself back for some personal space.

He was close enough to tell she had used John's shampoo this morning. A lack of hairbrush in the flat had left her hair untamed when it dried. Her eyes looked between his own, flickering to each stormy blue and trying to sink into her chair further. His stomach twisted with a foreign feeling he wasnt used to yet. Regret began to rise when his anger dispersed.

He took a breath before slowly standing back up again. John had grabbed his shoulder harshly sometime during his short staredown, his words going over Sherlock's head.

Until now.

"Sherlock! You complete ass, I know it's serious but Y/n is under our CARE not some prisoner you can intimidate and interrogate!"

All that had happened during this one sentence, and Sherlock frowned at his own distracted mind for feeling as if he'd been there forever. It seemed Y/n was causing a lot of frowns for Sherlock so far.

Y/n opened and closed her mouth while she composed herself again. Before finally taking her fallen chip and eating to have something to do, though her appetite was lost.

"It's important that I know your connection to him. Please."

She nodded but was unhappy with what had just happened. She knew he could tell, but put on a controlled look as she revealed their connection.

"I suppose I'm in some trouble, if that was anything to go by. I met James a few times while interning for my father at his law firm - I'm a graduate Law student. James is a good friend to the company as far as I know, and we had him over at home for tea a few times-" Her words faded to his ears.

Sherlock was seething. Law. Somehow, he believed Moriarty had the gall to invest in a mediocre law company (or blackmail them) just to see Sherlock squirm for one small moment. Perhaps he chose Y/n just so she would reveal this to him. And yet he doubted that to be the case, no matter how much it pissed him off. He took another breath and began talking again.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news about the James Moriarty you know..."


	6. Get in loser we're going shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gone... And now I'm back!
> 
> BAAM!!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments help me see what I'm doing well or poor at!

Finding out you've had dinner with a master criminal that even the government fear turned out to be a difficult pill for Y/n to digest. On multiple occassions in their family home no less! Sherlock was calm in his telling of the encounters he and John have had with the man Y/n thought she had understood.

"And finally this brings me to your case. The man who kidnapped you was hired by Moriarty, he targeted you using his influence in Britain to hide it from the news outlets that would eat up a story like yours. I'm sure your father must have been aware of it by now, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were blackmailing him and using your disappearance as an asset to barter with." Sherlock finished his explanation with a pleased smirk, glad to have put together a clear case of what Moriarty's moves were so far. Y/n sputtered at the mention of her father's situation.

He looked to his companion to have him confirm the information to Y/n but paused to assess the situation he had caused once again.

John was now crouched in front of Y/n's seat and had moved her chips off to the table beside her. He held her hands as she sat shell shocked at the barrage of information. She stared into her lap where the soldier's hands envoloped hers and silence fell over the room as her shakes settled. Sherlock diverted his focus to his mind, where he played out the potential response from the woman before him. 

In previous discourse between them, she had been shaken to her core. She hadn't seemed like the type of person a lawyer needed to be, but she had gotten onto and completed an esteemed university's Law course. Whether that involved her father's help or not was up in the air for Sherlock, but she did seem to hold her family close to her heart. He remembered her eyes lined with tears only a half hour before, when he had lost his composure and been a menace looming over the chair she sat in still.

Now, he expected her to cry. He concluded that she was weak of heart to the troubles of criminal worlds and that she'd be more suited to psychiatry with all the sympathy and feelings that held her heart captive against the troublesome.

"Mr Holmes."

The man's attention fell upon the woman at the call of his name in a formal tongue. She lifted her head but her eyes were firm in their gaze and hard to read. He found the look intriguing on her, she wasn't acting as expected and that meant he was wrong. He was wrong but he didn't mind it this time. He wanted to know why he was wrong before anyone knew he was, and so he responded in an even tone to her.

"Yes?"

She pat John's hand in appreciation of his silent assistance and then stood from her seat. John followed her up and watched as she took a step towards Sherlock.

"I know you have been helping me since you found me, but please allow me to impose on you further. I want to help. I... If James... No. If Moriarty is as dangerous as you say, then I can't stay back when innocent people are in trouble. And my family... My father may be in danger right now." 

Y/n took another step towards the taller man, and he kept his focus on her eyes. She was entirely serious. He hadn't seen the fire inside of her when she was a victim in Moriarty's plan. Nor when she was a friendly companion to his roommate. But now she was feeling strong enough to show this side of herself to him.

The lawyer side of herself.

She stuck a hand out in the small space between herself and Sherlock and he glanced down before returning to her eyes.

"I want to help. As someone on the side of the law, I will convince you if you don't think me capable right now. I won't be the quiet damsel Moriarty expects me to be in this case. I understand this may be a long battle, but, will you let me help?"

Her hand didn't shake as she held it before herself, an offer and request all at once that stood firm between them. He smiled and took it, interested by the warmth that her steely gaze let out. 

"Gladly. There's surely room for one more in this flat more often, John?" 

John grinned as he took in the exchange. He had already met the strong side to Y/n since he was open to letting her in his heart as his friend. 

"We could do with another rent payer anyway!" John clapped the woman on her shoulder in a friendly manner and Sherlock released her hand slowly. Her smile was blinding and victorious as she reached out to John in return.

Surely he was becoming ill, because he felt the warmth of her hand linger in his own as she walked with John away from the living room. He remembered The Woman. Irene Adler... Sentiment had brought danger everywhere he found it. Mycroft's voice filled his head unexpectedly.

"Caring is not an advantage."

No. He was simply impressed by her hidden strength. Intrigued by the balance of thought and feeling she displayed - and her interest in fighting back on her own case.

Yes, that was what the warmth in his palm was as he reached for his mobile. Interest, a new angle, something fresh.

That was all.

*

With her inability to go home and their collaboration for the case, the trio agreed that she should get some things to settle her into the flatshare. It was that same evening that John and Y/n went about London to get clothes and essentials for Y/n's long term arrangement. Sherlock had insisted he stay at home, expecting someone to turn up and not giving shopping more than a grimace of thought. Y/n's wallet, and in turn her credit card, had been retrieved from her assailant entirely untampered, and so she dipped into her saved up money to get what she needed. 

It was with a smile that she and John wandered the evening streets, breathing in the chill of the night and laughing between themselves as they each hauled around a couple bags of her shopping.

"You mean to say he was naked at Buckingham Palace?!" Y/n exclaimed, and John rushed to hush her as he nodded and made awkward eye contact with passerbys.

"You need to know what you're in for since you'll be with us a while at least!" He chuckled in return, turning to the curb to call a taxi. 

"I'm wondering who is more mad at this point - a Holmes or John Watson! You knew what he was like and still accepted his flatshare offer, incredible."

Many taxis passed by John's frantic hailing as he replied, "You aren't any better yourself young lady, you find out you were attacked by a mastermind and now you want to move in with the guys he antagonizes periodically!"

Y/n gives a shrug and a chuckle. A black car finally pulls over for them, but it isn't a taxi as expected. John groans and begins to walk away.

"What is it, John?" Y/n asks as someone rolls down the window and addresses her. John turns back around to stay by her side. "how do you know my name?" she begins asking the woman in the back seat. 

John takes Y/n's shopping and hands it off to the driver, who was opening the boot of the car already.

"We're off to meet the last mad one - you haven't met Mycroft yet. Isnt the car thing weird? It's not just me, right?" John is exasperated as he opens the door for his new friend to get in the car, which she does with great confusion.

"Oh my, so this is what he did after the telephone thing? This is a bit a strange. Did he follow us through London?"

The woman, Anthea as she so reveals, explains how they were found, "Mr Watson should really turn his location off - didn't even need a hacker for this one, just told all the taxis to keep moving." 

John fumbles with his new phone in his seat as the car takes off. He really didn't understand technology beyond his website. Y/n kindly helped him out with his device as they were driven to meet Mycroft Holmes.


	7. Texting and driving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think! I'm sorry if it seems a bit slow going, lots of stuff going on behind the scenes for this author! Thanks for leaving Kudos ❤

Sherlock needed some alone time to process the events of the last twenty hours. From the phone call John received about the crime, right up to his new flatmate's background and involvement. Whilst Y/n and John went shopping - a frivolous experience but necessary in this case - Sherlock sat reclined on his sofa for an hour, eyes closed and fingers steepled in a thoughtful manner.

He knew Lestrade would be coming soon; his network had overheard that he was looking for Sherlock. That paired with the fact that the DI himself had left a half dozen voicemails about his escape last night foretold his arrival. The timing was simple - he would not be free to visit until the evening time thanks to the case work. 

It was unsettling how all the pieces moved around Sherlock like clockwork this time around. Mycroft definitely had a hand in the pot. Surely he couldnt have predicted Y/n's wish to stay... Too many variables in emotions. 

His palms tingled where they met, and he sighed as he sat up and opened his eyes. He leaned his forearms on his knees and stared into his palm, where Y/n had shaken his hand. 

Was this a good idea? He was becoming more than reckless by accepting her into his little troupe more permanently. If Moriarty could be trusted to do anything, it was that he was seemingly senseless in his motivation until he revealed it, and that could mean more danger than Sherlock could cover involving Y/n as well as John. 

He clenched his palm into a fist. 

Another hour passed before his flat door opened, and Greg Lestrade reached for Sherlock's attention twice before he broke the man's trance. Sherlock glanced him over and assessed him automatically.

Exhausted, his eyes hadnt seen dark circles so obvious since he and his wife last split. His clothes were from last night, with hardly a touch up of deodorant; suggestive of having worked a long night and spent more time in the office than at home. 

The reason he came was easy to spot too - the look. Lestrade always wore a look around Sherlock that spoke of his frustration and need for answers. Answers which Sherlock could provide.

"Good evening Lestrade, higher ups worked you like a dog I see."

This was his greeting to the greying detective inspector.

Lestrade sighed and remained standing in the doorway; hoping he could leave shortly, it seemed. 

"Yup. Can't have it easy with someone like your brother sticking his nose in it. Look - you knicked some evidence didn't you? I need the evidence for submission so I can close this damn case and get some real sleep in. I won't book you for it."

He stepped away from Sherlock as he stood from the sofa with a nod and an indication to follow him.

"I ran an analysis and got a report on this shirt I found in the wardrobe of our crime scene. It directly links to the body you found this morning, which I also visited for confirmation, we can conclude it was a murder-suicide." 

Sherlock half-lied to the detective as he went to collect the men's shirt Y/n had been found in. He had sent it to Molly for examination early on, testing the small bit of bile for drug traces and the rest for actual connection to the crime. 

But he had Y/n scratched from the report.

To anyone looking through the case files, they'd find that a blood stained shirt belonging to their murderer was recovered from the wardrobe at the crime scene, and had been worn by him around the hours the murder had taken place.

That was all Lestrade needed to close his case, and all he needed to know of his new client - nothing. The Moriarty problem was more than Lestrade was qualified and obliged to do.

With the shirt in an evidence bag and the report already printed, the older man's relief was apparent. There would be no argument over theft this time.

"Nice one. But next time I wont be able to let you off for tampering, even if your brother is watching over my work. Got it?" Lestrade took the items with great joy, but his voice was still stern.

"Perfectly clear, Detective Inspector. Glad to lend my services to the Yard." Sherlock gave a short, fake bow to the older man, with a gesture to head over to the exit.

Greg huffed at him, but made himself scarce with a goodbye.

Sherlock shut the door. 

Where were John and Y/n? He anticipated needing to explain their appearance while Lestrade was still here. Obviously he would make it out to be John and a new girlfriend to push her further from the case to the Inspector's eyes. John was older than Sherlock, and Y/n younger; would most people consider that strange? He was still uncertain of relationships outside of his own strange connection he had with The Woman. 

He wasn't sure why he began to think of the excuse, it was unnecessary since they weren't here. That was the new problem.

He searched his pockets for his mobile, and sent a text to John's number. 

' Lestrade came by. '

After five minutes of waiting on a reply, he was sure Mycroft had picked up his flatmate again, this time two of them.

' Don't say anything about the case. '

No answer.

If they were with Mycroft, which he was certain they were, he wanted to send a sign that he was getting impatient.

He dialled John's number, to no reply.

He had memorized Y/n's mobile number from her wallet, but there was no guarentee that her contact information was still relevant. Ordinary people change their phone numbers for all kinds of silly reasons.

He attempted to dial the number, in hopes that she was not one of those silly people.

It rang, and her voice spoke to him in the voicemail.

"Hey there, I'm unavailable at the moment but I will get back to you as soon-"

Sherlock hung up.

Hopefully they'd be back soon.

*

Stepping out of the car, they found themselves at a rather unseemly warehouse. A peculiar place for a meeting with a highly ranked official, or perhaps, a genius place? Y/n stayed close to John.

He seemed to know the drill, and she trusted him to let her know if there was trouble, so she allowed him to lead her to the mysterious man stood in the open area of the warehouse. She walked with her back straight, showing confidence and calm beside John, who appeared irritated though not unsettled, which comforted her.

"Good evening, John. Sorry to have you see me again so soon, though I'm pleased to see you walking the new pet at Baker street."

"Excuse me?" John and Y/n spoke at once, and the man stepped forward.

"I jest, of course. Y/n L/n, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, though I'm sure you can guess I already know you. Mycroft Holmes, charmed." 

Mycroft reached out a hand toward Y/n, and waited for her response. She stepped one foot forward from beside John,

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

She shook his hand once with confidence, before returning to her place beside her friend. John gawked a little at the scene before frowning again with irritation.

"So, what is it this time? Surely you could have stopped by for tea if you wanted to greet Y/n."

Y/n huffed a small laugh from her nose and John seemed less annoyed.

"Yes, well, family dinners were never pleasant with Sherlock and I together, I'm sure you can understand. I brought you here to warn you." Mycroft got straight to the point, with his face as serious as ever.

John looked to Y/n with a raised brow which she returned. They looked to Mycroft as he spoke his warning.

"Do not try to stop what is coming, no matter how many emotions you must swim through. Nothing better will come of interfering, so play along, for the sake of everyone involved. And do not take my warning you lightly, for there is little I can do to help beyond what I am already doing." 

John's phone began to ring, which made Mycroft raise his brows. He lowered them again and the remnants of a smirk settled on his face. John made no move to answer it, despite his own curiosity.

Y/n spoke when the ringing stopped.

"You aren't able to tell us what is coming, are you?"

"Correct."

The silence continued, heavy in the air. It felt as if something was very wrong, and Y/n shifted in her spot under the watchful eyes of Mycroft Holmes. John appeared to begin saying something, but was cut off by a quiet ringtone from Y/n's pocket.

Mycroft chuckled, but the weight in the air remained. "Oh, and please relay this conversation to my brother also. He knows, but let it serve as a reminder of my seriousness." He gave a nod directed past the pair.

Anthea stepped out of the car and stood behind them.

"We'll take you home now."

They shared a concerned look before nodding and turning back to the car. Mycroft spoke once more, 

"And Y/n," the woman turned at her name, "I am truly sorry for your situation." 

Y/n tilted her head. Living with John and Sherlock? Perhaps. It seemed as if living with Sherlock was the main problem; John had been nothing but kind. Mycroft's gaze seemed to hold many secrets and hidden messages, which made Y/n nervous. Unsure of herself now, she nodded to him and took a seat in the car.

As the car drove the two back to Baker street, they looked through their phones together. Y/n had an unknown caller.

"I bet that was Sherlock calling you. He called and texted me right before you got your call. He's crafty, don't be surprised that he has your number too." John told Y/n, and she smiled for the first time since they spoke to Mycroft. 

Her shoulders felt tense from the meeting but with John she allowed her heart to relax.

"I hope that's the only private info he can get into, maybe I should hire him to keep himself away!" She chuckled. 

John was glad that she was doing well enough to crack some humour again. Mycroft's cryptic warning had clearly put stress on her with her silence and seriousness.

"You took that well, let's get back to the flat so we can hire Sherlock before he does anything drastic - he pretends he likes being alone, but I'm sure he's antsy right now." John replied, earning another laugh from Y/n. He was happy to be a distraction from the eerie cryptics of Mycroft's final words to her. 

Together they crafted a simple reply to Sherlock from John's phone.

' Coming home. '


	8. Alone Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Sherlock go off on a trip without telling John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment to let me know what you think! Thank you for the kudos ^-^

The sound of violin music filled flat 221B to the brim over the next three days, pushing at the seams of its brickwork and residents. The thoughtful habit had been explained by John to Y/n, who graciously accepted this for the first day. During the hours of 0600 to 2000 (thanks only to Watson's nagging), Sherlock was left alone with his music to muse. As for the rest of the 24 hours, he researched in silence. Food had not touched his lips since the arrival of his two flatmates the evening before.

On the second day, there was frustration from both Sherlock and the newest resident. Sherlock with his lack of answers, and Y/n being under the grating and unyielding frustrations that came out of Sherlock's song. Too many times had she jumped out of her own skin at a sudden peak in tense throes across violin strings and each time she was around, he noticed her reaction. This, in turn, broke him from his thought processes and added to his frustrations.

On the third day, John left to attend to his job, leaving Sherlock and Y/n at the mercy of each other's company.

After the shopping trip with John, Y/n had taken up residence in that room to allow Sherlock to return to his own. His song played much more softly under his hands when she came down that morning from her new room upstairs. She carried an empty mug with her toward the kitchen. His playing remained muted in her presence, and she noticed it. He didn't want to startle her, simply because it startled him from his own thoughts in turn, but even doing this meant he had to take notice of her presence. It was a strange balancing act for him, to stay rooted on his train of thought whilst not completely disregarding the world around him. It was almost... grounding. Like a meditation and reminder of the time passing as he thought on the case. She walked through approximately every four hours to retrieve something from the kitchen or to find John and speak with him. Without John around, Sherlock mused his client would disappear from the living area for a much longer time.

He was leaning too far to the world around him. 

He straightened his back as he focused on his playing and the case at hand more carefully. The balance was an interesting game, but he was needing to finish up and find answers soon.

Their victim was a business graduate, murdered by an assassin who was now dead at his own hand and left a witness behind. What game was being played, and where was the next piece going to be placed?

The victim had been easy enough to get information on. His family was powerful in a corporate sense, and he had begun lurking in black market dealings at his young age. His technological abilities weren't as strong as his persuasion and resourcefulness, which proved itself in the fact that Sherlock had been able to trace his tracks among deep web societies. Questions of forgery, bribery and blackmail cropped up among some revered figureheads, with Jeremy Fishern on the interrogating end. His nose had been in places it shouldn't have been, and his head paid the penalty for it. Gruesome but it was the truth that came with such a dark part of the world.

The assassin - hired by Moriarty for his duty and description, Sherlock was sure. Moriarty's need to take out Fishern and the likeness of the killer being relayed to Sherlock. But why did Moriarty want their victim dead specifically? Surely such an inexperienced person could be no threat to a man like Moriarty, with his endless layers of webs and entanglement among other criminals.

And Y/n, what was her place in this? Was she with Moriarty? He was plenty sure he had been able to read her correctly each time he deduced her. She was ordinary, incompatible with a man so violent and unpredictable as Moriarty was. He decided she was likely a playing card in Moriarty's hand as much as the assassin had been. What was the purpose of a law graduate and the firm that her father worked for? Perhaps her father was tangled up in some bad business, which was unfortunate for him and perfect in the clutches of Moriarty.

"Lost something?" 

Y/n's voice broke through Sherlock's thoughts, which had circled around his head like desperate, angry vultures on the little information he had,

It was not the first time she had tried to converse with him over the last two days, but his violin playing halted for the first time as he turned to regard her. Her pyjamas were soft, pastel tones similar to her own skin colour and she carried two cups of tea in her hands. He noticed there was a cold tea resting on the living room table already, which she quietly exchanged for a new one before nursing her own.

Lost something? Whatever she meant, it had caught his attention. He found it difficult to maintain his silence under the veil of violin strings with her buzzing around the edges of his thoughts. 

"My train of thought, perhaps. What do you think?"

His reply could be taken as snarky but he held a sincere question before her. She had spent enough time in his thoughts, and so Sherlock decided to confront her might be the solution to the distractions she caused. He set his violin down and took the fresh tea in his hard-worked hands to bring some warmth to them.

"Sorry for interrupting. It does seem as though you are searching for something, which I know to be the case thanks to John." She tilted her eyes up to meet his own with amusement. "If you stay in one place you don't go anywhere, you know?"

Sherlock kept his eyes on her as he listened.

"So, I just thought you might need to take a break; three days is a long time to play the violin and drive yourself mad on the same thoughts. At least, I hope I'm not wrong to assume that. It's just your playing sounds... frustrated." She averted her eyes from his as if embarrassed to assume she could read his needs. She was correct though, and so he decided she didn't need any scathing remark for her intrusion. 

He could respect that she had "deduced" him, though very basically.

Something about her words ticked in the back of his brain, the case always on his mind. If you stay in one place, you don't go anywhere. Searching for something. Could this be what Moriarty was doing too? Was Jeremy Fishern murdered to search for something?

"Don't say anything, that's perfect!" 

Sherlock had put down his untouched drink and reached out to put his hands on Y/n's shoulders. His exclamation was sudden and surprised Y/n.

"If you were looking for something someone wanted kept hidden, what would you do? You'd look where they hide, their safe space, their room and internet history, right? Feel free to say something, now." Sherlock spoke quickly and let go of the younger woman to walk about the room as he gestured in his speech. Y/n raised a brow at him as she replied.

"Well, thanks for the permission... but to answer, yes I suppose I'd look for a diary or note so on so forth."

"And how would you do it? If you were rich and influential, what would you do to get what you want? No, no use asking that of you - you're too... nice. What would I do? Well, even if I were a criminal, I wouldn't kill the one hiding something, they might have information. But what if I can't interrogate them? Why wouldn't I be able to, if I were so powerful?" Sherlock was rambling as he put himself in Moriarty's shoes, using Y/n as an outlet to bounce his thoughts off of.

This wasn't the outcome Y/n expected when she tried to get Sherlock to take a break, but he definitely seemed more alive and productive than before, which she supposed was a preferred outcome.

"Well," Y/n began, "what if they are important too? Their disappearance would be noticed."

Sherlock nodded as he responded. 

"Close. Perhaps killing them would be perfect for those very reasons. To stop them moving what they have hidden and to send a message to the ones who would notice." Sherlock paused and looked Y/n up and down. She felt her cheeks warm at the attention. 

"Get dressed Y/n. We need to go somewhere." He announced, seeming excited and finally relieved of his stress. He bounced away from her towards his bedroom.

"Where are we going?" She quickly drained her the last remnants of her tea and collected the mugs from the living room to deposit them in the kitchen.

"Scotland Yard!"


	9. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's getting on the trail and Reader is getting some insight to Sherlock!

Sherlock swept past the reception area of Scotland Yard and headed straight to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's office. Y/n was floating along behind him, taking in the amount of potential for a trespassing fine to be thrown at Sherlock's every move and wondering how she could prevent that. It seemed most of the employees were already used to Sherlock's illegal habits, and some even sent his new companion an understanding nod.

The purpose of her presence and Sherlock's train of thinking were still hazy to Y/n but she took it in stride as she narrowly dodged the workers that ran around the rooms. DI Lestrade was at his desk when the consulting detective pushed open the door and ushered his companion inside.

"Sherlock, now isn't a good time -" the DI began, only to stop once he took in the sight before him. A young woman stood in his office with Sherlock of all people standing menacingly tall behind her and encouraging her forward. 

"Graham-" 

"It's Greg!" The DI interjected,

"- this is... Eileen Fishern. Cousin of our latest case. Very distantly related but truly, they loved eachother like siblings. Right, Eileen?" 

Y/n's eyes widened at the snowballing situation she was about to take part in. She didn't know why but she felt ratting Sherlock out in front of the law would do very little to help bring justice, ironic as that may seem. Sherlock, so she discovered, was infamous in articles for always getting the job done, where Y/n had seen many others fail beforehand. It's why she wanted to be a lawyer; she wanted to step up where others sat back and allowed injustice. Her nerves rose as she replied, putting her debate to rest.

"...yes! Jeremy and I were very close and -" 

"-she wanted to take a look at some of the belongings from the scene, sentimental stuff, you know the deal." Sherlock finished for her, finally unveiling his intent to her. He wanted in on the evidence and snoop around.

"Of course, I won't ask for anything you'll need to take to court," she said this with a slight bite to her words, warning Sherlock not to get greedy, "I just want to see if there was something I gave him a long time ago..."

Lestrade listened to the conversation carefully before sighing and shaking his head. 

"I'm sorry Miss Fishern, I couldn't allow that even if I had the key. You'll have to sign some papers and be accompanied, which could take a long while to arrange."

"So, why don't you sign papers now, accompany her and get the key? Surely you can spare a moment for a pretty woman in grief! Imagine her shock when I had already sworn you'd allowed it once before..." Sherlock put his hands on both Y/n's shoulders from where he stood behind her, leaning down to give her a pitying look from the side. 

Y/n sighed at his antics, but to Lestrade it came off as a pretty lady in distress. He wiped a hand down his face and slowly built up to a nod.

"Why did you- well it is true... Stay here, and don't leave Sherlock. I'll talk to the evidence custodian and print off some paperwork." He stood up from his seat and rounded the desk, giving a sympathetic smile to Y/n as he approached. 

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Miss, but please keep an eye on this one for me. He's troublesome!" He bowed his head in a nod as he walked past the two of them, closing the door on his way out.

After a beat of silence where Sherlock made sure Greg was gone, he burst into a spin of delighted grins.

"Brilliant! Absolutely perfect, Y/n. You're a natural, oh, and the sigh! It's almost as if you truly were exasperated! And to think, a lawyer lying so boldly before the law... We may get along yet. Yes!"

Sherlock lacked containment as he paced around the room, scanning the desk and opening unlocked drawers to snoop briefly. Without picking anything up, he took in all the information he could.

"I hope you are grateful, because I could have as easily revealed your lie you know. It's not right to lie to the law, but... I want to trust you. John speaks well of you beyond your antics and I trust John." Y/n spoke clearly as she settled into a guest chair on the opposite side of Lestrade's desk. 

Sherlock paused his searching as he took in his companion's words. He felt... Something. Something responded to the idea that he was trusted by John and gaining the trust of Y/n. 

He brushed it aside when his eyes landed on a goldmine of information.

In a top drawer was the evidence log for Jeremy Fishern's case.

He scanned through it, comparing it to his memories and own filing of evidence at the scene. He was in his mind palace again, and Y/n watched with fascination at the sudden change.

Footsteps began to close in to the office when Sherlock pushed the drawer back and stood himself besides Y/n. His voice was a low hum by her side as he leaned down to speak to her quietly.

"It's gone. Some evidence has been stolen from the crime scene. I need to check if it was logged by police at any point or if it was directly removed. Stay in character, Y/n." 

His breath was a warm flutter of air atop her head and she shook her head as Lestrade returned. 

"Alright, I got the papers, Miss. Let's go through them."


	10. Dive in to the dark side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally able to update this - Let me know what you think!

His shoulder brushed Y/n's as they walked towards the evidence store rooms. Sherlock listened to Lestrade guide them with sympathetic tone but cheerful conversation, still buying the act of Sherlock's lying little lawyer. He knew the DI had cottoned on that Sherlock was up to something more being a kind heart to a victim, and that was fine by Sherlock. He was already buzzing with anticipation to confirm his theory. The graduation certificate, framed so terribly on the bedroom wall of Jeremy Fishern's apartment, had not been written down on the most updated evidence list. Getting into the evidence locker would reveal the initial list taken at the scene of the crime, and if the certificate was on there or not would tell Sherlock everything he needed for his next move. Getting ahead of the game was his priority. If Fishern had been hiding something, he wanted to know what it was. Information was often more dangerous than any object or power and Sherlock knew this all too personally. Information in the wrong hands was all the more deadly.

"Here we are, Eileen. Let me get you a list of the things we acquired from the apartment. Sherlock, wait with her, will you? Can't have you snooping more than you already have been I suspect." Lestrade stopped their party outside a room with frosted glass on the door. When he unlocked it Sherlock could see the filing cabinets and lockers that filled up the room like a boy's gym locker. The dusty smell that told of unopened windows crept out of the room as fast as it vanished when Lestrade closed the door behind himself. Sherlock looked down at Y/n when she sighed.

"I hope you find what we're looking for - this act is exhausting to uphold. You'd think four years of drama classes would prepare you better for something like this!" Her voice was hushed as she spoke to him. Her shifting from side to side told of the stress she felt, and he noted the picking she had started at her fingertips. Anxious habit, probably long ingrained from childhood. Anxiety could take a hold of any individual, Sherlock had learned. Being pampered or clever didn't mean you were free of anxieties. He didn't take her for the drama type, though, and expressed his surprise with a thoughtful hum.

"You'd expect a lawyer to make a great case or defence, would you not? Logically post-rationalising the information you've shared is a great trait for you. Could save you all kinds of trouble in courtrooms."

He didn't quite know what brought out the round-about compliment. Perhaps he was giddy off the anticipation, waiting for Lestrade to return with the evidence list. His eyes remained on her as she turned to look up at him. It was the first time she took note of his height, he stood perfectly upright with no sign of tiring from the confident position. His eyes peered down at her without any hesitation or shyness. No particular kindness filled his eyes but he spoke and looked upon her as if he had merely spoken a fact and not a compliment. A feeling of embarrassment filled her chest as she contemplated his words and turned her eyes to the side. 

"Thank you, Sherlock." Y/n took his compliment just as Lestrade's shape came toward the frosted glass of the evidence store. "You're not so bad yourself."

Y/n turned to greet the DI but Sherlock remained quietly behind her. Distracted. She was somehow getting into his head with her foolish words and voice and her softly scented new shampoo. Not that he would notice something like that. He shut his eyes and emptied his mind for a moment, returning to the situation at hand. Y/n now held the evidence list and Sherlock peered at it from over her shoulder. A grin sprung to his lips as he took in the information. 

"Can't see anything like what you described to me, Eileen. How terribly unfortunate for you. I suppose I will have to escort you back home now! Till next time, George." Sherlock announced to the other two, resting a 'comforting' hand on Y/n's shoulder that began to guide her down to the reception area again.

"Yeah, it seems like it's not here... Thank you so much for your time Detective Inspector." Y/n explained with a smile that bordered on a sad expression. Sherlock watched Lestrade nod once in confirmation. He was totally hooked on Y/n's act. What a terribly fortunate soft spot Lestrade had for women.

"Please, Eileen, call me Greg. It was not much trouble compared to what this one usually wants from me." He gestured to Sherlock who couldn't even muster an eye-roll past his excited smile. "What was it that you were looking for, if you don't mind me asking?" 

"Well..." Y/n paused for hardly a moment before supplying her lie to the DI. Sherlock was in his mind palace with what he had discovered, thoughts racing as she finished, "just an old ring. Family thing." 

Greg nodded as he walked with the pair down past his office. 

"I see. I'm sorry I wasn't much help for you but be safe on your way back home."

"Thank you, Greg!" Y/n was able to fit in as Sherlock was swiftly sweeping her toward the exit. The reception area was quiet as they left and a sandy haired employee was chatting up the receptionist. Y/n made eye contact with him as Sherlock opened the door for her and sent a polite smile as she exited. Sherlock spared a glance toward him as he left too.

Stepping out of Scotland Yard felt different to Y/n than when she had first arrived. She had lied to the law to break into evidence under as little suspicion as possible, with Sherlock supporting the role with what influence he had on the employees. She wasn't even sure what information they had procured from the visit. She looked up at him as they walked away together, his hand now lowered from her shoulders. He was alight with a gleeful grin and he met her eyes before explaining his behaviour.

"The certificate. It was registered on the initial inspection and confiscated under need for inspection due to blood splatter. But now it's gone. Oh, Y/n, this is brilliant. Obviously Moriarty had someone on the inside remove it from the Yard's possession, but that means they had to have access to the Evidence Store's keys." Sherlock explained to her, a fire growing in his eyes as sparks of ideas were let out onto Sherlock's audience of one. "The evidence custodian would always have access and not be suspect to theft due to the job. Perhaps he's been involved in more theft of evidence than this case alone... How would you like to join me on an investigation trip, since John is busy? Not that you're a replacement... but I must admit you were more helpful than I could have asked." He proposed to her, before supplying an additional thought onto the end of it.

"Could break some more laws. How does that sound?"

Y/n was overwhelmed with thoughts at his fast paced excitement. Moriarty, theft of evidence, more law bending... This was revealing itself to be the spider's web around the world of crime she saw escaping the everyday justice system. She could see it in Sherlock's actions and history, that bending the law often proved to protect it more than obeying it as a detective. Uncovering the truth and building a case with irrefutable proof was everything Y/n wanted to show to a courtroom. To defend an innocent framed for evils, or put away a criminal weaselling away from their just desserts. Moriarty was the man who held her family in a state of chaotic balance at this very moment... She knew Sherlock knew more about him than she had time to discover for herself.

"I think that sounds like an interesting offer. Where to?" She smiled at him, which he returned in earnest at her acceptance.

"We're going to visit the custodian's personal residence. I already know the address. Thought he was suspicious a few cases ago but John likes him so I simply remembered it. But let's be open here; John likes you and I, and we're off to break the law. How good can this guy be?" Sherlock chuckled and walked with Y/n to the curb of the street he had guided them to. He stuck his arm out to the road to call over a taxi. Just as a car pulled away from the traffic toward them, Sherlock suddenly retreated and pulled Y/n away with him.

"Sherlock?! What are you doing? Ugh, you're hurting my arms, Sherlock." 

Y/n was extremely surprised by his change in demeanour. His face which had laughed moments ago was now stern and alert. He loosened the grip he had put on Y/n's arms but kept her close to him as they walked quickly away down various alley's under Sherlock's guidance.

"Someone is watching us. Keep walking. I noticed him when we left the Yard, but he might have been following us prior. I didn't think ahead. God! Of course it's not just this easy to hunt down some evidence." Sherlock explained in a hurry, leaving Y/n drained of any good humour from their previous talks. 

"You said it might not be the only evidence they've stolen, what if it's bigger than that? Maybe they don't want anyone unveiling just how much evidence they've tampered with... We have no idea how long it's been going on for." Y/n replied, thinking over what reasons could leave them stalked for their investigations. It happened so quickly, someone on the inside must have been the enemy. 

"I think that's accurate. It seems more tangled than even I suspected. But unveiling is exactly what I do." Sherlock frowned and picked up his pace, his hold on Y/n remaining. He took them through an odd route that he seemed to have walked many times before. At every cross section he didn't hesitate to pick a direction and they ended up in what seemed to be a run down area of rough sleepers. 

"Could be dangerous. Still want to come?"

They came to a halt and Sherlock let go of her to stand in front of her. He couldn't have any hesitation, so he patiently watched her reaction to see if he would let her join now that there was an added issue to the case. The issue being the firearm that had been pointed at him and Y/n in warning from across the street when he had called for a taxi. The carrier had been the light haired man he had seen following them from Scotland Yard. His cover job had been as one of the office workers in the Yard, and Sherlock had noticed when the sandy haired actor had followed them out of the building. He had been around the offices at the same time they had been, close enough to eavesdrop on conversations, Sherlock was sure. So, the Yard was infested with rats and one was currently chasing them away from the nest that surely hid what they were searching for. A foolish action that only confirmed Sherlock's suspicions.

"I do."

Y/n's reply was sure and Sherlock nodded. Something in his gut protested the thought of danger for the first time, perhaps because Y/n wasn't an ex-soldier as John was. They would need some preparation before any work in Moriarty's side of the field.

"First off, let's get back home and get you some lessons. You should know how to defend yourself, John and I will give you some basic things to know. I'm serious when I say it could be dangerous, Y/n."

She nodded in response to his reiterated warning. 

"Everything in my life could be in trouble right now, and I have been used for a sick crime by these people as well... I'd rather try to stop them than go on knowing about them and pretending I don't. I was serious when I said I want to help stop Moriarty and his ugly web of criminals." Y/n was confident and certain, which was all Sherlock needed to allow her to join for real.

"Let's go then. John's shift will finish soon."


	11. Close Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read and comment!!

When John came home the tea was more fresh than the last time Sherlock had made one for him. To think it was only four days prior was a strange notion but his current reality. Four days spent having known Y/n and becoming friends with her; the scent of fresh tea was connected to their chats in the living room at this point. He felt like a good fit to the older brother figure. He had always been treated as the younger brother to Harriet, and now he had formed this new connection to someone he met less than a week ago. Madness certainly came with the job of living with Sherlock.

Y/n was seated on the flat's sofa stirring her drink, idle eyes skimming the old carpet. She had changed into more activewear for the due sparring session that Sherlock had explained to her. Simple self defence moves and advice on how to play dirty to escape. At the sound of John entering the flat she peered up and greeted him with a smile that he returned. 

"I thought you'd like some tea when you came home - it's still piping hot!"

"Thanks Y/n. You know me too well already. How was your day?"

John sat down by his friend and took his tea from the table before them. The warmth between his hands felt like coming home after a storm's cold bite. The tea tasted like PG Tips.

"Quite bizzare actually. I practically broke into Scotland Yard and lied to a detective, and then ran away from a weirdo in the grasp of another weirdo."

"Mm, sounds eventful enough to be true. I've been wondering when you'd be up to no good since we met, mind you." John teased.

Y/n shook her head in humour before nodding in affirmation.

"You're onto me then, couldn't keep from blabbing to you! Now go on, arrest me before that second weirdo comes back to finish me off." She said, finishing her drink off with a smirk.

"Let me guess. Sherlock?" 

"Don't you know it." Y/n laughed.

"Of course. At least he stopped playing that damned violin! I'm not surprised you'd commit a crime for that result. I can't say I blame you." He nudged her gently with his elbow but still managed to spill a splash of his tea.

"Damn! I was going to wear these trousers for a date tonight..." 

"The ones you went to work in? I'm shocked, John!"

"Well, I was going to head out pretty immediately..." John began to explain, but was cut off by another voice.

"Jess has been swept up by other circumstances I'm afraid." 

Sherlock came out from his bedroom in less formal attire than usual. This, however, was still rather classy on his figure. A simple black crew neck jumper and loose fitted trousers. 

"What?" John started, "Wait, how do you know her-"

"You should find out in three, two, one..."

Not a moment later than he had counted down, John's phone began to ring. He looked at Sherlock with annoyance before putting down the remains of his drink and walking to the kitchen to answer it.

Sherlock let out a small smile of triumph as John passed him, before noticing Y/n's expression.

"What? We have plans."

"But you interfered with his."

"So you assume, and you'd be correct in doing so. There's a rather large mess of crimes to investigate and right now we need John more than he needs a date."

Y/n raised a brow. "You mean, you want John to help more than you want him to get a girlfriend."

"Yes, what's wrong with that? Clearly logic dictates that he is of more use to society assisting in the capture of criminals-"

"On the way here you said that if he was busy you'd teach me yourself if you had to, are you sure it's not something else?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"I'll humour you. Do tell, what else might that be?"

Y/n grinned at the invitation. 

"You find out John's got a date, and suddenly crash it so he can hang out with you instead. Jealousy can infect anyone, even you-"

Sherlock scoffed. He turned and walked to his chair across the room and sat down with great emphasis on his condescensing look at Y/n.

"Jealousy is a petty emotion, and I do not deal in feelings the way you and John are so inclined to, Y/n."

"But you don't deny you deal in them... In your own ways?"

Sherlock did not reply as he contemplated this. Certainly, emotions had previously plagued him before acknowledging them in the past. Was his intervention more than meddling to solve a case? Surely not.

"John... Is important to me. But I cannot reiterate the importance of the case as you know it well enough. All hands must be available to catch the lies as they fall." Sherlock concluded to the woman across the room. There was no space in his mind for emotions so petty in nature.

As Y/n took in this answer, Sherlock wondered why he would reveal his connection to John to this almost stranger. He had once even doubted her as trustworthy. Information was deadly, and John had been put in enough danger in the past already. 

He looked over at Y/n as she gazed to the carpet once more, a small smile graced her face as she no doubt found humour in Sherlock's hiding of emotion. His mind drifted back to her case as it had a thousand times already. 

How could he twist Moriarty's intentions for her to remove her from his grasp? In the game he was told to play, Sherlock wanted to use this piece to get ahead. Having a grip on the opponents piece, converting it into one of his own, it would surely enrage Moriarty to be played this way. Or was he expecting that? How much faith could he put in Y/n's usefulness to Moriarty? If she were useless, then what role did she play that allowed her to live after being found by Sherlock?

John walked back from the kitchen, looking grumpy but accepting of his situation. 

"Somehow-" John looked pointedly at Sherlock, "Jess has had to cancel. So what the hell is it you've got planned for the evening?"

Sherlock shook his head of his thoughts with a firm bounce of his head. He had to think ahead, he needed to get in a better postition to find out Moriarty's intentions. 

"We'll be training Y/n in some self defence so she may freely join us in further investigations. We encountered a gunman earlier today. I thought it would be appropriate to have her ready for closer encounters."

"Good God, Sherlock, you're being shot at already?" 

"It was a warning, a flashy display from a man who didn't handle it correctly either. Now, if you'd kindly change to more... appropriate attire, John?"

"Like I'm just going to do what you say? After you cancel my date?"

"You mean to imply you want to skip this particular training session? And I thought you and Y/n were good friends. I'm afraid she will think you're a no good soldier at this rate."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulder as he stood with his hands behind his back. He walked around to Y/n and put a hand on her shoulder. 

Y/n rolled her eyes at his act and stood, but was eager to have John help her learn quickly. She didn't want to hinder any investigation for any reason, and so put on her best little sister face.

"I'd really appreciate if you didn't leave me to spar with this one alone, John. And I'm sure you'll have good fun too!" She told him.

John stared at the pair. Thick as thieves and they didn't even realise it. The look on Y/n's face was really selling him, though.

"...Fine. But only because Sherlock is a hazard and not because he wants me to do it!" He exclaimed as he retreated to his room to redress.

Sherlock pat Y/n's shoulder once as John shut his door.

"Excellent. Let's clear up the space, shall we?" He walked about pushing furniture to the walls of the room, and Y/n joined him in doing so.

As Y/n pushed John's chair toward the kitchen, Sherlock's leg shot out and sweeped her to the ground.

"Oh!" 

Thud.

"Oof! What the hell Sherlock?!"

"First rule. Always look out for danger. Now get up, Y/n." He offered her his hand when she turned to face him. 

She reached out and took his hand, but he pulled her up far too quickly. He spun her to face away from him and held her back against him. Her right arm was lifted in his grasp, and her left was pinned as he held her body.

His mind turned to their encounters so far, always urgent or forceful in touch after he had carried her home the first night. He held her firm but made an effort not to pain her with his grip. He wasn't sure why. A real attacker would not give such mercy.

"Can you deduce the second rule?" He asked, planting himself back into reality.

She let out a gruff exhale of annoyance. 

"Could it be 'dont trust Sherlock'?!" 

He laughed at her. 

"So close." 

She struggled in his grip and he watched to see how she would address the issue of escape. Her hands reached to scratch him and her torso twisted against his front, but she didn't consider fighting with her legs yet.

He planned to tell her this would be the perfect time to shift her weight toward the floor, or use her legs as weapons. She needed to use her mind and quell bubbling feelings of fear or frustration in the real world.

"I am playing the enemy here, so, 'never trust the enemy'. You can always trust your team on the field- gah!"

Sherlock released Y/n as he fell back. John had apprehended him by the neck with his arm and pulled him off Y/n. Sherlock was only slightly surprised at his companion's stealth.

"See?" Sherlock managed to say, much to John's annoyance. "John, you can... Let go... Anytime...!" 

"Did you hear something, Y/n?"

"Not at all, John."

The two of them laughed as John released Sherlock.

"I'd say a rule is 'dont do things alone'. And that means no picking on Y/n just because you're looking for a fight, Sherlock!" 

"Ah... Well I thought the element of surprise would simulate a real situation. I am here to teach, not coddle!" Sherlock protested. He stood back to his full height and massaged his throat with one hand. 

John walked over to Y/n's side. He wore a dark grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, the outfit on him almost screamed 'trained in combat' if it weren't for the odd socks he wore on his feet. Y/n twisted her lips into a stifled laugh as she noticed them. He wiggled his toes in return.

"These were all I could find. I swear I'm usually more coordinated." He joked.

"Sure you are. Just like you're not usually found flirting with every pretty girl you meet." 

"I'm stilled annoyed at that. My date was perfectly planned!" 

"I can tell. That chokehold you got on Sherlock was pretty awesome. Kind of a 'You ruined my date night so I will ruin your life' type of hold, you know?" Y/n laughed with him once more and Sherlock cleared his throat loudly.

"Now then." 

He stepped toward John and Y/n. 

"Let's get down to business. We need her to know some basics by later this evening. Then we'll revise it tomorrow." 

The two nodded in unison, putting on more focused faces. 

"Alright." Y/n said. "Show me what to do."


	12. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been a while! Here's a more reader focused chapter! Thanks for your support, this project is still in the draft phase so hopefully I will be able to go back and rewrite everything with more grace when it's all done!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

It's ten in the evening when Sherlock agrees to end the training for the day. Friendly hugs of appreciation are shared between John and Y/n. Her lips quirk up in a tired smile.

"Thanks John. I really appreciate the help." 

"My pleasure. Now go sleep it off and get rested up, alright?" 

He pats her shoulder and heads off to his own room. 

" 'Night, Sherlock."

Sherlock mearly nods in return, his eyes finding their way Y/n to assess her. Learning to defend herself proved quite simple, she wouldn't be helpless if he took her on the case further. The woman in question was beginning to collect some of her things to head upstairs.

The droop of her shoulders showed her physical exhaustion yet her face was relaxed and empty of tension. Thoughtless, habitual motions told of her comfort in the flat despite having been there less than a week. This was good news to Sherlock as he deemed her stay a necessity; having her uncomfortable would be a stone in his shoe. Though she still appeared too trusting of strangers, it was a simple flaw that he observed in their first day.

"Y/n."

Curious eyes look to him with an honest expression of intrigue, her mind still active despite her body's exertion. 

Unsure of why he called to her, he shook his head of this action. After all, he had dismissed her for the evening after their session ended. There was no desire to idly talk with her in the living room since he planned to do some work on the case, and yet his mouth called her name before his mind had thought to. Y/n had been a trove of uncertainties to Sherlock the entirety of their newfound acquaintance. A filler came to his mind before the silence dragged on.

"You did well. Good night."

Her eyes were gentle cresents when her mouth curved up. It didn't escape him that giving out compliments was rare for him, and yet he had done so freely on two occassions for this stranger. Turning away and heading to his own room, he pushed the thought from his mind. Y/n was pleased with her progress that day as she watched Sherlock leave. 

Picking up her belongings, namely a water bottle and towel, she headed to the only bathroom in the flat. Her body was tightly wound and she rightfully smelled as if she had run for an hour in a winter coat. Though she longed to sleep it off as John had suggested, she knew she had to clean up first.

The shower was refreshingly calm compared to the exercise of the evening. Seeing her own shampoo and body wash made the bathroom appear more homely than the first day she had use it.

This idea was simultaneously pleasant and saddening. She truly missed her own bedroom, filled with pieces of her life and her two roommate's presence. The queer couple would probably run themselves mad trying to find out her whereabouts, and it nagged on her mind every time she thought of it. How long would it take to get back home?

If the positions had been reversed and one of her roommates had disappeared, Y/n knew she would be out looking for them everyday. Had they put out a missing person's case? Was Y/n's face on the news at all? She hadn't come across it as of yet but surely fliers of her picture were scattered around their street by now.

Today was the fifth day since she had left them to go on a date without returning, no contact with anyone she knew since. Guilt was easily found in this thought of her loved ones. In the words of Sherlock it was for their own safety and for her sake too. This was the only comfort she found in the situation. With the power to help rather than harm, she wished to do as she could with it.

Suds fell between her fingers in a slimy avalanche. Blame could only go to James Moriarty, a man she had shared polite laughter and good food with on more than one occasion. A churning sensation filled Y/n's stomach. Such people existed in the world around innocent lives, deceiving people everyday as to their truly insidious nature. She washed away the bubbles as quick as she scrubbed her mind of the memories.

Her room above the flat was a quiet haven she could escape to for silence but it's lack of personal touches left it feeling like a hotel room. The mirror her mother bought her from Greece last year was nowhere to be seen. There were no notes from her father to tell her to follow her dreams. Old pictures were absent and her clothes were cheaply chosen for convenience. It was a place of safety but she could never find comfort in it's walls. 

This sensation translated into her recent dreams too. 

Cacophonies of colour swam around her vision. A thousand eyes at the bar were staring at her as sweat rolled down into her sight. Crooked teeth lead to bodies that revealed their slimy scaled skin. The people drifted around her. The man she came with seemed to be the only normal one besides herself. She shivered in her seat as she asked to leave. Her date agreed. 

Some time would pass before she realised she was upside down. Clouds became drifting puddles at her feet and she felt as if she weren't walking at all. In fact, the ants in the concrete sky seemed to be carrying her away.

The next thing she knew, a rose was blooming in the skull of another toothy, scaly character. He wore a suit and was taking his shoes off. Y/n felt nauseous for some reason, but her stomach was only coated in alcohol. Petals scattered across the carpet, which rose like cream coloured grass around her. Bile rose to her mouth in a terrible, burning crawl across her chest. 

She peered up with great effort and the figure of her date had doubled. The left stood distorted moreso than the right and the right wore a second pair of hands. A weight against her shoulder knocked her off balance before the world appeared like waterfalls closing in on her vision. The doors of existence shut on her and a dog barked in the void. In the darkness her anxiety spiked and she screamed. 

When she wakes up she lets out a small, strangled yell of confusion. Sheets grasp to save her by the legs and she rolls off the bed with a blanketed thud. Footsteps come from the floor below her before someone knocks on her door. 

"Y/n? Are you alright?" A worried voice asks from outside her door.

Dry mouth plagues her as she tries to regain her senses. Her body is sweaty and pumped with adrenaline from the anxiety of her sleeping visions. Tangled inthe sheets her legs stressed her out further. Her sight swims in the darkness of her room, seeing shapes from the shadows. More steps approach.

"It's Sherlock and John." A second, calmer voice announces. There's a pause of silence filled only by panicked breaths. "We're coming in." The same voice says when she doesn't reply. 

She's sitting up from the floor in her pyjamas with her brows pulled tightly together. John approaches her shortly and Sherlock scans the room from the entrance. There's a gun in his hands, but he makes no move to use it after a moment of tense investigation. He's still wearing the training outfit from hours ago - he had been working when he heard her quiet shout and fall and moved to wake John. He looks back to the pair when he deems everything safe.

Automatically he begins to deduce her state. Her clothes and red veined eyes suggested she had been asleep to that point, so she must have been awoken by something suddenly. Her pupils were sharp, almost pinpricks. The contraction of the pupil could be inflicted by strong negative emotions or drug use, Sherlock knew. With Y/n having been asleep, he favoured the first option.

On the floor, she appeared to have fallen from her bed. This would match the idea of having been awoken suddenly. A brief glance to the bed showed nothing nearby to crash into, so she could only be harmed by her impact with the floor. No complaint beyond her quiet cry earlier, but he couldn't be sure she hadn't hit her head without further investigation.

Her legs were caught between her sheets and the twists of the cotton told him she had thrashed rather violently. The direction of the lines suggested kicks as opposed to rolling around. Escape rather than discomfort.

So what was the cause of it? Disoriented and unable to support her body properly, the scene whispered to Sherlock of her waking moments in their first meeting.

A dream, perhaps? What dream would be so involved that she became this active in her sleep? She had shown no signs of sleep disorders in the time they'd spent together. A dream with a deep subconscious grip on her body.

"What happened Y/n?" John asks, kneeling down in front of her.

Cloudy eyes and a rising fever; her hands shook like a child before a beast. A sheen of sweat covered her skin. Sherlock clicked the symptoms in his head. Fear and narcotics. The mystery drug must have had a lasting effect on her beyond consistent memory loss of the night. Or perhaps, a recurring effect, a placebo with a trigger? Could she have recalled her memory in her sleep? Sherlock needed to verify this. Any memory of the event would be helpful. Taking note of her state for later analysis, he moved closer to the pair.

"Y/n?" The army doctor clicked his fingers on either side of her head, then in front of her face. "Sherlock, she's unresponsive." John reached out to take her temperature but she suddenly comes out of her silent coma with a flinch.

Sherlock approaches slowly, putting away his gun as he comes to a squat before her, forearms resting on his knees. He can tell she is becoming more lucid, her senses having had time to sort themselves out. 

"Y/n?"

Sherlock is calm and controlled as she looks to him and John in relief. The recognition in her eyes made Sherlock feel as if he were a lighthouse and she a ship on choppy waters. The sight makes something in his chest curl up tight.

"Sorry guys, I must have worried you both. I had this strange nightmare, and a terrible headache."

John nods sympathetically and Sherlock keeps his eyes trained on Y/n. Her movements are more focused as she attempts to untangle herself again, with success. He'd counted the seconds it took to come down from her panicked dream state and then the seconds to become herself again. The sluggish response of her mind confirmed that the drug may have had a more concerning and affect than he'd thought. Slower processing skills and temporarily poor motor functionality.

"Do you remember it?" Sherlock probed with a straight face, but in his mind he was hopeful. With any extra information he could place the pieces together faster than Moriarty may pull them apart. 

"Not really..." Her expression falters with guilt. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"No, it's fine. Can you stand?" 

"Yeah-"

"Come with me then. John, you may return to bed if you wish. I'll be needing Y/n for now."

John's brows met with concern, but he kept his mouth from pulling down in a frown. He trusted Sherlock, had begun to notice the small kindness he allowed Y/n to receive from his reserved persona. She'd be safe with him.

"Alright, make sure she gets back to sleep though, she needs it. Take care Y/n."

"Good night John. Sorry for disturbing you." 

"No worries mate. Just get some rest again soon."

The woman nods to her friend with grateful eyes. John leaves and Sherlock follows after offering an arm to pull Y/n from the ground. She accepts and pushes herself up as Sherlock pulls her weight to him.

The pair stumble a bit as Sherlock steps back from Y/n tipping forward, but he anchors her with the grip they hold on one another's arm.

In the kitchen, Sherlock has his lab set up and has clearly been using it in recent hours. No sleep for an open case. The living area has been methodically reorganized to the precise state it had been before their sparring session, much to Y/n's interest. Not a single thing was out of place by a fraction beyond the fallen papers leading to the kitchen workspace.

Sherlock picked the papers from the floor as he went along towards the kitchen, gesturing for the other to sit in John's chair. When he returned to the living area he held a single sheet of paper and sat in his own chair.

"I'm going to update you on what I know of the case so far."


	13. Author's Note

Hey everyone! Just letting readers know this work will be put on pause... I've lost inspiration for this story and it's still in it's draft phase with each chapter posted.

I'll come back with a brand new version, all cleaned up and rewritten to be more clear! Check out some of my other work!


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